Clutch
by whispered touches
Summary: Or, how Ginny gives Harry her heart, and receives his in return. One-shot.


"So, um, I was wondering – would you maybe, want to, you know…"

Harry is stuttering in an oddly, wonderfully awkward way, blushing just a little with his hand on top of his head, flattening his hair. His eyes are bright in the afternoon sun.

Very carefully, Ginny reaches into her chest and withdraws her heart, vibrant red. It beats along to the pulse in her hand.

She steps forward and kisses him, holding her heart close to his, and says, "Yes."

He smiles then and when his fingers close around her wrists, his pinky brushes against it.

.

She looks up and catches him staring at her again.

"What?" she asks, as he quickly averts his gaze.

"Nothing," he mutters, cheeks pink. The corners of his mouth are turned up.

Grinning slightly, she reaches for his hand across the table, her heart between them. As fast as it's going, she can't bring herself to let go of it.

.

She wipes her tears away because she knows he won't go if he sees her crying over him.

"I've got to do things alone now."

She fights back because she knows he needs to feel in control.

"I care."

She knows.

"We could've had ages… months… years maybe…"

And she doesn't give him her heart because she knows it's too heavy for him to carry right now.

.

Ron and Hermione aren't back yet and George is missing an ear. Harry looks about as bad as she feels.

Clutching her heart tightly, Ginny slips her hand into his; he's startled by the sudden warmth and beating against his skin but doesn't pull away before her, and when she does, her heart sits in his palm.

.

Her lips and eyes and heart are on fire, but he's still holding tight, even as he stands in her room looking (slightly dazedly) between her and the door.

He doesn't want to leave.

She doesn't want him to leave, either.

And pitiful as it is, all she can think is _why should he have to?_

His heart and hers are side-by-side in his hand; he's grasping at his own just as fast as he's grasping at hers.

It's not that he _won't_ give her his heart – it's that he _can't_.

.

The first thing she thinks when she sees him is _he looks exactly the same._

The second is _no, he doesn't_.

It hurts a little just to look at him: His hair and face both need a good trim; his skin is bruised and scraped and maybe even burned; he's grown several inches taller; his shoulders sag with the weight of his burden.

The third thing she thinks is _he's alive_ and the fourth is _he still has my heart._

And he does. In a split second he almost extends his arm toward her, but then seems to think better of it.

The fifth thing is _he wants to_.

His green eyes glow. They're weary, and scarred, and afraid, and also determined and noble and brave and so full of love –

The sixth thing Ginny thinks is _he's staring right at me_.

.

"_Harry Potter is dead."_

_._

Her heart should have stopped beating when his did, she shouldn't be able to feel anything –

Then why does it feel like her heart's been shattered into bits, the pieces stomped on and incinerated?

And all she wants is to die to stop the pain, right now, at this instant –

She screams, "Harry! HARRY!" because _he has to wake up,_ he has to give her his heart so she can keep it safe –

.

And just like that their hearts are beating again.

.

He's sitting up in the bed, blinking at her, opening his arms.

Without hesitation she throws herself at him, burying her head in his tattered shoulder and taking him in; then she pulls back and looks at him for a moment that lasts forever, and kisses him.

"It's hard," she murmurs when she breaks away.

"What is?" he says against her neck.

Believing he's here. Thinking of ever letting him go. Knowing it's over. Knowing that Fred–

She chokes, "Everything," and it's suddenly really, really hard not to cry.

His hand closes around hers and he says, "It doesn't have to be."

Ginny looks down at her hand. Harry's heart is there, big and full and beating stronger than ever. After a few seconds, it starts beating in sync with hers.

She looks back up at Harry. He's got this expression on his face like he wants to smile but can't quite manage it.

"I love you," she says, and she is just so relieved that it's hard to breathe, hard to imagine saying anything else, and she clings to him and clutches his heart tight.

* * *

><p><strong>an: **a single paragraph that i've had laying around for months helped me start this... longer than i'd imagined, but all full of metaphorical juicy goodness. :)

so. ahem. yes. i'm not dead. in fact, i went to SPACE on sunday and it was amazing and got to meet the StarKids and it was tons of fun, but i'm not going to ramble on about that here (PM me. also, i'm on pottermore: snidgetthestral13. ;D)

but that aside, i'm going to get my ass into gear and finish all the plot bunnies hiding under my bed. i promise.

i really mean it this time.

(maybe.)

anyway, please review! i know this isn't the greatest, but if you favorite, i wanna know what you like about it.

thanks for reading.

~whispered touches

**disclaimer:** i do not own harry potter. it belongs to jk rowling. no copyright infringement is intended.


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